


The Grand Graveyard Of Hopes

by proudandbroken



Series: We killed love in a time of war [1]
Category: Dunkirk (2017)
Genre: Angst, Canon Compliant, Character Study, First Kiss, If You Squint - Freeform, Implied Collins/Farrier (Dunkirk), M/M, Sort Of, World War II, tommys head is a messy place to be
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-01
Updated: 2018-01-01
Packaged: 2019-02-26 11:14:23
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,821
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13234500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/proudandbroken/pseuds/proudandbroken
Summary: Tommy had seen hell.Hell was no fire burning.It was white sand, tainted by blood and dead bodies and cold blue water crashing in huge waves and consuming everyone who tried to escape it.Hell had a name and it was Dunkirk.





	The Grand Graveyard Of Hopes

He learned to live. He learned to survive.

There was no other choice.

Either you managed it to survive somehow or you died. It was as simple as that.

One small mistake meant death.

Standing at the wrong place at the wrong time meant death.

Looking back meant death.

There was no more looking back.

Not for him.

If he wanted to live he had to run. Forward. To the beach. His only chance of escape.

He could smell the salt in the air, hear the waves crashing to the shore. It seemed so close and yet it was so far, far away.

He wanted nothing more than to stop and rest. Exhaustion made his legs stumble more than once on the rough pavement. He forced himself to keep going. Stopping meant death. He did not want to die. Not yet. Not here. Not like this.

He kept going, ran for his life, ignored the dropping bodies next to him. There was no logic, no thinking. It was simply instinct that carried him on. The drive to survive.

He did not stop. Not until he finally reached the beach, seeing finally the promise of salvation that has carried him through the past weeks.

It was not what he’d expected. Perhaps the young naive boy deep inside of him still existed somehow, regardless of all the horrors he had seen. He had hoped for something pretty, like the beaches he remembered from his childhood. What he got instead was the smell of sweat and death mixed in with the sea air. It was nauseating.

The enemy was close. There was no hope. He was fairly certain he would probably die on this beach. At least it was a somewhat pretty place to die. Well if he ignored the thousands of waiting soldiers and the dead bodies.

He turned away, walked between the dunes. Anything to get away from the mass of desperate soldiers. To be alone if only for a small moment.

Of course, his wish would not be granted. How foolish of him to even hope for it. There was no escape. Dead bodies lay wherever he looked, just left to decompose. No one cared to bury them. It was every man for himself.

He almost felt ashamed as he walked past them, trying not to look at the bodies. There was nothing he could do for them.

No. That was wrong. It felt wrong. He should bury them. He should at least try it. 

The truth was he had barely the strength to hold his own body upright and moving. He could not do it. And the harsh reality was that if he would be lying dead on this beach no one would probably care for him as well.

Such was the reality of war, turning good men into careless monsters. It changed you, against your own will, and there was nothing you could do to escape it.

It was surreal to actually stumble across a soldier trying to bury someone and for a moment he was confused. Then he was ashamed, again, this time for his thoughts, for his assumptions. Had the previous months really turned him into something so horrible? He could not answer it.

Maybe the other man buried a fallen friend he guessed. Soldiers might not care for strangers here, but friends were something entirely different, even here, even in hell.

Though he saw how the other man struggled as well, how he tried his best but still half of the body was sticking out. 

He should have walked away, it was none of his business, but he couldn’t bring himself to leave. His humanity was not yet lost. He may not be able to bury someone on his own, but he could sure help someone do it.

As he knelt on the cold sand the other man looked up and he found himself staring into green eyes. He was mesmerized and he could not explain why. It felt like something… he did not know, nor could he explain why. A connection perhaps. Though it was weird. It was not possible, or at least it should not be. How could he feel connected to a man he met only seconds ago? He did not know. But whatever it was, it existed, because how else could he describe this odd feeling.

They did not speak to each other but he found that he did not mind. Instead the silence was a welcome difference to the usual sounds of war that were everywhere. It was nearly peaceful. Well, as peaceful as one could get trapped on a beach surrounded by the enemy and burying a dead body but he would not complain. He was alive. And for now, that was everything that mattered.

The stranger even shared his water with him, not that there was a lot left. Not that anyone had enough left of anything. Not anymore. 

He was so thirsty he could have downed the whole thing, but instead, he took only a few sips. Such a kindness was rare in those times and he did not want to be too greedy. Better a little then nothing he guessed.

What he’d not guessed was how hard it was to get up and leave. It was not like they were anything to each other. They were strangers. Two men having the bad luck to meet at this godforsaken place. Nothing more. They would probably never meet again. Still, it felt weird. And as he walked away he could swear he felt those eyes looking at him, following him until he disappeared between the white sand of the dunes.

He did not expect he would meet the handsome green-eyed stranger ever again. But then he also did not expect German planes dropping bombs on the beach. He also did not expect surviving the attack. But well life was full of surprises after all.

They used an injured soldier to try escape. He should feel like a horrible person. But anything getting him off this beach was worth a try. This was not the time for a bad conscience. 

They managed it onto the ship only to be kicked off. He should have felt discouraged. He should have gone back to the beach. Instead he followed the green-eyed stranger down on the framework of the mole.

Where did that trust come from? He had no answer. But in all honesty, it was better down there than to be stuck on it with all the other soldiers, waiting like sitting ducks for the next bombs to drop. And they came. Rather sooner than later and as he watched the ship that he hoped would save him and bring him back to England sink right in front of his eyes, dragging thousands of men down, he was never happier to be kicked off than in this moment.

He had to adapt. He had to make the best out of the situation. There had to be other ways. He looked at the other man and there was understanding in his eyes. They both quickly dropped into the water to get wet and joined the group of Highlanders. 

Perhaps it was cowardly. Perhaps it was the wrong thing. Perhaps he did not care.

And perhaps he imagined how the stranger’s hand brushed against his as they walked. Perhaps it was an accident. Or perhaps it wasn’t. Perhaps he even pressed his hand back, wishing for more than this fleeting touch.

Perhaps he was in big trouble.

 

He learned to pray. He learned to believe.

There was water. There was darkness. There was no way out.

He would drown, trapped inside of a cold, dark prison constructed out of steel and rivets. Raw fear was choking him even before the cold water had a chance to do so.

He remembered his mother telling him about the Titanic, years ago when he was still a child, how the great ship went down, taking so many souls with her. Did those people feel the same as he did now? Trapped inside darkness as the cold water consumed them, stole their breath and left nothing more than floating bodies in icy green water. 

Perhaps it would be the same. Only worse. For he would be nothing more than a nameless corpse in a steel coffin filled with water. There would be no records of him. No mourning. No one would know where he was, how he drowned so close to the damned beach he tried to escape, sharing his grave with so many others who were nameless and would remain like that until eternity.

He did not believe in god. Not really. But now, in this moment, he was ready to start praying. To god. To anything. As long as he could live. He wanted nothing more than to live. To feel the wind on his face and breath the cold air on the outside. He never prayed before, but yes, now was a good moment to start.

When he looked up and saw a light, flickering and blurry, he remembered the exit It was not on the side anymore but instead above him. Desperately he tried to swim, to reach the light before he could not ignore the need to breathe anymore. 

There were bodies in his way, dead soldiers floating calmly around. Such a contrast to the flailing mass of people still fighting for their life. He pushed them roughly, tried to shove them out of the way. For them it was too late. But not for him.

The light grew closer and when he finally felt the air on his face he nearly felt like crying. Perhaps there was a god. Perhaps he had heard his prayers. Or perhaps it was just dumb look. In the end it didn’t matter. 

Quickly he pushed away from the sinking destroyer, not wanting to be pulled down by it, not when he barely managed to escape it. By now he was simply acting on instinct. Survival. Nothing else mattered. Ignoring the ache in his limbs he swam as quickly as he could towards the small rowboat.

He didn’t even care if the boat carried him back to the godforsaken beach he swore he never wanted to see again. It didn’t matter. He only wanted to be out of the water. He wanted to live.

There was a hand reaching out to him. He swam as hard as he could and he could have sobbed in relief as strong fingers closed around his.

He looked up and found green eyes looking at him. The same green eyes that he had seen only a few hours ago for the first time in his life. Yet he was sure he would never forget them, would always recognize them for as long as he lived.

The other soldiers didn’t want him in the boat. They wanted to leave him right there in the water, next to the half-sunk destroyer and all the men still desperately screaming for help. Fear tightened his chest and he was sure he would have drowned right there on the spot if it weren’t for the life jacket he’d put on. 

The fear must have been visible in his eyes because he saw the other man quietly dropping a rope into the water and motioned for him to grab it and so he did, letting the boat drag him back to the beach.

 

 

He collapsed on the wet sand as soon as his feet had left the water. There was no more strength in him to move anywhere else. He did not care about the cold nor the wet sand. All he wanted to do was sleep.

He felt more than he saw another body dropping down, as close to him as possible. And somehow, without even having to look he knew it was the green-eyed stranger. No. Not a stranger. Not anymore. Somehow they have managed it to move past that stage. It was still weird, somewhat confusing, he would admit that, to feel so close to a person without even speaking a word. But it was not like they needed it. All it took was green eyes meeting brown eyes.

Perhaps he imagined it but as he leaned back against the warm body against his back he could feel hot breath against his neck and a soft kiss against his skin. Maybe he imagined it. He hoped he did not. Maybe it was foolish. But it made him feel safer than he’d felt in months. For the first time in months he slept without being afraid.

 

The other soldier they saved was close, sticking to them but still keeping his distance. He was glad for it. He did not trust the other man. Alex, he’d said his name was Alex. He did not trust him. Not at all and he could not even say why. It was just a feeling in his gut. A simple feeling that made him trust Gibson - as he finally managed it to read his name on this tags while he watched him sleeping later in the morning. 

There was no logic. He’d known both men for a day, how could he decide whom to trust and whom not. It was irrational. It made no sense. Yet he made sure to keep close to Gibson. Where he was there was safety. And that was enough. For now.

 

They needed water. And food. Anything. He stumbled around the beach, searching for something valuable. They had landed so far from the mole he wasn’t sure there would be anything. He wasn’t even sure someone would save them from here. And he was not the only one to have those thoughts. He could see other soldiers trying to row back into the sea, only to be pushed back by the massive waves. Some men tried their luck by swimming. Those did not come back. And he wasn’t sure if they meant to escape or just gave up.

He was thirsty, so thirsty, and he could still taste the salt on his lips. It was nauseating. It made him remember the night before, the sinking destroyer and how he’d been trapped inside. He was afraid again, scared of his own memories. Burying his face in his hands he was somewhat glad that he’d walked away far enough from everybody, that he was hidden alone in the dunes. It wouldn’t do any good if any other man saw his weakness.

Strong hands gripping his shoulders startled him until he realized who had gripped him. It was like a flashback. Green eyes meeting brown eyes, alone, surrounded by sand. There was worry in Gibson’s eyes. And a bit of fear, and something he could not recognize. Yet his gaze was hypnotic. He could not stop himself from staring. How foolish. He must have looked like a weirdo, like a deer caught in a headlight.

The intensity of Gibson’s gaze made him shiver. Or was it the cold wind? His lips parted and the next thing he felt were rough lips claiming his mouth. His body went limp and if it weren’t for Gibson’s strong arms holding him upright he was sure he would have collapsed into the sand.

They kissed with the desperation of two drowning men, only they did not crave air but instead each other. He’d never been kissed with such passion before, with such strength and desperation. It should have scared him. Instead he found himself pretty much reacting the same.

He wanted more, oh so much more. But this was neither the place nor the time. Someone could discover them at any time and he had no false illusions. Discovery meant death, be it the enemy or one of their own troops. There was no difference.

But Gibson understood. He could see it in his eyes, see the love, but also the fear. They smiled sadly at each other and Gibson turned away to go back to the beach first. He pulled him back. He could not let him go. Not yet. They shared a last kiss. This time it was slower, deeper, and it almost tasted like a promise. A promise of more. When they got out of here. This time he could let him go with a soft smile on his lips.

 

 

Why had they followed the other soldiers to the grounded fishing boat? Wouldn’t it have been better for them to just try their luck by themselves? He did not know. Perhaps it was hope. A foolish hope that they would be able to escape this hell somehow. Oh if only he knew how much he would come to regret that decision.

He could not tell how long they had stayed huddled up inside the hull. No one had a watch, not anymore, and time passed in a blur. At least he had an excuse to stay close to Gibson. No one would question them lying so close to each other, sharing both body heat and comfort. Not with the limited space they had available.

Oh how he longed to be resting in his arms, perhaps even in a clean and warm bed. Maybe they could have this. Maybe they would survive this hell. He had to hope. Hope was everything he had left.

It was calm and uneventful in those hours they spend waiting for the tide. It was almost too calm. He was used to the noises of war and to lay there and here none of them made him nervous. He didn’t like it in here. They were like sitting ducks waiting for the big bad wolf to come. 

It was a bad decision. They shouldn’t have come. He wanted to get out, desperately, but there was nowhere to go. Their enemy was closing in. He had missed his chance. Why, oh why was he so foolish to follow Alex? Why, oh why did he not trust his instincts?

It was a mess. Bullets carving holes into the steel, water rushing in, panicked soldiers everywhere. And the accusations. Those ridiculous accusations. They were wrong. They had to be wrong. He saw the raw fear in his eyes and begged him to tell them they were wrong. He’d never wished for anything more in his whole life, not even for his survival. Anything just let him not be a German. He was never more relieved to hear those French words, to hear his voice for the first time, rough and laced with fear. His trust had not betrayed him. Their gazes locked. There were no words needed. Pain. Love. Fear. Courage. A promise. They could say everything they needed with their eyes, tried to find some strength in each other as the world around them drowned in chaos.

 

 

As he laid on the hard deck of the boat that saved him, freezing and trembling, he wished for nothing more than strong arms to hold him. To hold him close and keep him safe and warm. And to love him.

But there was no one. There would be no one. Not anymore. Not ever.

Love had drowned in a rusty boat not even an hour ago, taking his heart and locking it in a steel coffin on the ground of the channel.

How utterly poetic.

It felt weird. Here he was, sitting safely amongst other people. He should feel relieved. He left that beach of horror and despair behind. Yet he never felt more alone and afraid in his whole life.

In the far corner of the boat he saw Alex sitting. They looked at each other before the other soldier looked away in shame. He couldn’t help himself but blame him for the mess. But at least he had the decency to feel ashamed for his actions. Not that it did any good now anyway.

He, too, felt ashamed. Ashamed that he did not even notice it at first that Gibson had not made it out of the sinking ship. He’d only realized it after he’d been saved when he saw the other men but not the man he was looking for. He had assumed he was right behind him. How foolish. How could he not have noticed? Probably the same way everyone did not notice anything once the fight for their life started. It was rational. And logical. But it did not ease the guilt tightening his chest. 

He should have gone back. He should have made sure.

You would have drowned, the rational side of his brain told him. He couldn’t care less.

No. This was not right. He should feel safe. Oh how much he wished to feel safe. Or to feel anything at all. Anything but the emptiness that filled his chest.

Undeserving. That’s what he was. Why was he alive? Why him, when so many other men died. Was he really better than them? Did he really deserve it to live? A rational part of his mind knew he did. It was war. He deserved life as much as any other soldier. Yet it did not ease the feeling that it should have been him. Because he knew there was still the other side of the coin. Perhaps he deserved life as much as any other man, but perhaps he deserved it just as much to die as all the others. The bitter truth was that he deserved it as much to float dead and trapped in that cursed boat as Gibson.

No. Not Gibson. Not really. Not that it mattered.

He would never know. A mystery for all eternity.

All that was left was the memory of soft green eyes, looking at him with such warmth and love that he was sure he would never forget them.

He closed his eyes and wept.

 

Tommy had seen hell. 

Hell was no fire burning. 

It was white sand, tainted by blood and dead bodies and cold blue water crashing in huge waves and consuming everyone who tried to escape it. 

Hell had a name and it was Dunkirk.

 

At the stern of the boat he could see the young pilot standing, his eyes locked on the sky, gazing back into the direction of Dunkirk. He could see the tears in his eyes, unshed and burning hot like his own and a painful expression that seemed to be a mirror of his reflection. But who was he to judge? In the bitter truth of reality it seemed like he wasn’t the only one who had lost so much in the blink of a day.

Daylight was fading fast and when he looked up he could see the first stars shining in the endless darkness of the sky. Ages ago he would have enjoyed it. But now he could not find it in himself to care.

It did not matter. Not anymore.

 

In the end it was just another light on the grand graveyard of hopes.

**Author's Note:**

> So apparently your itunes shuffle hitting you up with that one specific song right after watching Dunkirk can lead to writing almost 4k of angst, who would have known.
> 
> Anyways this one is heavily inspired by the song The Grand Graveyard Of Hopes (I totally reccomend checking it out) and I'm so sorry for not saving Gibson in this one (he did deserve better!!!!) and lbr in my head aka denial-land he of course survived the movie and is happy with Tommy somewhere. 
> 
> But I do hope you enjoyed this fic regardless of the endless pain I put poor Tommy through.
> 
> This is actually also part of a planned 2 fic series but each fic is a stand alone as part 2 will be about Farrier and Collins.
> 
> English is not my first language and this work is mostly un-beta-ed so please excuse any mistakes (or kindly notify me so I can fix them)
> 
> Comments are very much appreciated and feel free to hit me up (I'm feedingmyinsomnia on tumblr) and scream with me about this movie and the characters and the ships because I have way too many feelings! :D


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